Good Cop, Bad Cop
by G-POW
Summary: Rorschach's Journal. Wasn't killed by Dr. Manhattan. Brought to alternate reality world. Met a thing called Deadpool. Wishing Jon had killed me. Hell would be salvation. Can't get theme song out of head. How the HELL did I end up being the good cop?
1. Chapter 1: Once More, From the Top

**Good Cop, Bad Cop**

* * *

**Summary: Rorschach's alive. He finds himself transported to a strange other universe where superheroes are everywhere. Unfortunately, he finds himself a tag-along: DEADPOOL. With a homicidal maniac and a psycopathic mercenary on the streets, what's gonna happen to the Marvel Universe? Not much. They're too busy trying to kill each other. **

!#$% FAN FICTION'S DOCUMENT EDIT! !#$%$$%^%$$&*&%$#!&*%$#$%!$#%$$&**&^%$#!#%^&*%^%&^%$##!%^&^%$&%&$#!$%^%&%&%^^$%$####! Seriously.

Hmm. Ignore that stuff above. There was another note written here, but...tch...yeah...So. Please enjoy this story! I'd appreciate some feedback. And, uh, no offence to any one from Rhode Island. And Cuba. I know it's a state: I watch Family Guy.

**Disclaimer: Watchmen (Rorschach) belongs to Alan Moore and its respective owners. Deadpool belongs to...I don't know, someone? The idea of a good cop/bad cop sitcom involving the two character belongs to ItsJustSomeRandomGuy. Chinduism belongs to Chindu.**

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**Chapter 1: Once More, From the Top**

The world is built on a lie.

A lie that was created by a river of blood, and fed by the blood of millions.

All in the name of _peace_.

It was a falsehood, made to create peace. Made by hypocritical pacifists. A lie made by a liar.

But what peace is worth living for in a world built on lies?

None.

And so death is what he chose.

Never compromise, even in the face of Armageddon.

**Death is not befitting you.**

Death is the only thing left.

**It is not.**

* * *

Click

"_-We now return to: The Hangover-"_

Click

"_-forecast for New York is-"_

Click

"_-report shows a sudden decline in gang activity and night-time crime-"_

Click

"_-studies show that eating kumquats reduce the chances of-"_

**So THAT'S what a kumquat is.**

Click

"_-pool, charged with reckless endangerment, millions of dollars of property damage, and 29 counts of threatening an endangered species-"_

Click

"_-rumours of a new masked vigilante-" _

Click

"_-the winner of the Miss America Pageant is-!"_

"BEA ARTHUR!"

"_-Rhode Island!"_

"GOD! What is wrong with you people! It's not even a state!"

_Actually, it is._

"Say what?"

_Sing the song…_

"Fifty nifty…hmm hmm…Alabama….Kentucky…."

**Finger-lickin' good!**

"…Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, South Carolina-"

_There! You missed it!_

"Did not! Rhode Island isn't a state!"

_It is! You just forgot to sing it!_

"Because it isn't in the song! If it's not in the song, it's not a state. Like Cuba."

_Is too!_

"Is not!"

_Is too!_

"Is not!"

_Is too!_

**Who wants chicken?**

"Is no-"

Rrring ring!

"Wait, lemme get this." Wade reached over and picked up his phone. "Hello?"

"_Is this Deadpool-_" The phone was immediately dropped as Wade fetched his mask. He slipped it on, and picked up the phone again.

"Yes, this is Deadpool. Make it quick. I was in the middle of winning a very important argument."

_Was not!_

"_Yes, um, I'm calling on behalf of my boss. He's offering a job that needs special attention that only someone of your calibre can provide._" The man on the other end sounded shifty, hinting at the kind of job being offered.

"Right. Who am I offin', and what are you offerin'?"

**Nice**.

"_Uh, the, um, target, is to be discussed personally with the Boss himself. As for payment, we're willing to pay you fifty grand-_"

"Not doing nothin' for anything under 70. I like sevens. It's a nice, round number."

"_Wait! You'll get the fifty now, plus an additional seventy after the job's done._"

Deadpool rubbed his chin, counting up the numbers. "Hundred twenty, huh? Not bad. Good thing for you I also like 13. It's a nice, cursed number."

"_Um, what?_"

"I'll do it."

"_Great! The Boss'll meet you down in the warehouse district, number 27._"

"Awesome. Wait, one more thing: Is Rhode Island a state?"

"_Um, yeah, I think so._"

_HAH! I win!_

"Well, if you win, it means I win too!"

"_What?_"

"Nothing."

* * *

Deadpool drove his girly moped-

"It's manly!"

Deadpool drove his wimpy-

"IT'S MANLY!"

FINE. Deadpool drove his MANLY moped through the darkening streets. Streetlights flickered on as the last vestiges of sunlight began to fade. As he neared his destination, there was a distinct change in the atmosphere of the place. Graffiti was splattered against the walls, garbage piled in the gutters, and off in the distance, a scream was suddenly silenced. He pulled to a stop in front of a dilapidated building, and checked the address.

"Why can't they ever hold shady meetings in a nice, classy restaurant? It's not like they can't afford it. They can afford to hire me, so why not dinner?"

He entered the building, and was immediately confronted by two surly-looking goons.

"You Deadpool?" Asked Generic-Goon-No.1

"No, I'm Sally, from the East Side Girl Scouts division. Would you like some Crispy-Thins? They taste great, and work much better than those Twinkies for your love-handles." He patted the goon's tummy.

Goon-No.1 and Goon-No.2 both blinked in confusion. Then Goon-No.2 had an epiphany. First one, too.

"You're not Girl Scouts. Where's your badges?"

Deadpool held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, ya got me. I was never in Girl Scouts. They never let me join. Said I was 'sick and perverted' for some reason. Those uniforms look good on me!"

The two guards decided to take the sane path and ignored his ramblings as they led him to their boss.

"Uncle Tony! Long time no see!" Deadpool ran into the room arms wide, and embraced the Boss in a hug. "You didn't come for Thanksgiving! I was sooo hoping to see your spoon trick again. Will you do it now, huh? Will ya? Pretty please?"

"Uh, Boss?" A thug standing to the left shifted uneasily. "You know this guy?"

The Boss shook his head as he pried himself from the red clad mercenary's grip. "No, but I'm guessing this is Deadpool."

At the mention of his name, Deadpool stood ramrod straight and saluted. "Deadpool, Merc-with-a-Mouth, reporting for duty, sir! Give me a name, and I'll put a bullet through their head, stomach, heart, gall bladder, left ventricle, and/or appendix. For the right price."

"Down to business, then." The Boss had a lackey bring him a chair, and sat down in it.

"A few weeks ago, I got a message from one of my boys. Said his group was ambushed while moving some 'precious cargo'. Didn't see nothin' because he was takin' a whiz, but came back to find his whole crew, six men, lying dead or dying on the street. Now I figured it was another one 'o' those whack-jobs in tights, somehow got the jump on them. Finally got the guts to get their hands dirty. But here's the thing; few days later, I get reports of another botched job. And another. And another. I ask around, and find a trail of bodies with no end.

"Somebody's out there, whacking my boys, and costing me money. I want them found, and found dead. You get me?"

"I get ya," Said Deadpool. "But it'd be easier if I got a name or face to go with."

The Boss shook his head. "No witnesses left. Only stiffs, and _this_." He pulled out a piece of cardboard. It looked like a ripped piece from a pizza box, but on it was a crudely drawn symbol, inverted and mirrored 'L's with two dots on the bottom. Deadpool looked at the Boss.

"I can't read Chinese."

"It's his calling card, you idiot. I'll tell you where my boys are gonna be, and you get ready to kill that son of a bitch." The look on the Boss's face was enough to kill. "Your payment's already deposited. You'll get the rest after you hand me this bastard's head on a platter."

"Righty o' then, old chap. Pip pip, cheerio!" Deadpool exited with a flourish.

Once the mercenary was out of sight, the thug that spoke turned to the Boss.

"You think he can do it, Boss?"

The other man sighed and massaged his temples. It was the same thing anyone did after a meeting with Deadpool. That, or being stuffed in a body-bag. "No, but he'll be the distraction while you guys go in and finish that bastard. And if that idiot gets caught in the crossfire…actually, make _sure_ he gets caught in the crossfire."

* * *

_**Rorschach's Journal, December 1st**_

**_A month has passed since Veidt's plan. Since his lie. A month has passed since I 'died'. A month since arrival 'here'. Don't know where 'here' is. Looks like New York. Feels like New York. Smells like New York. But not _my_ New York. Found new Journal to replace one that was lost. Hope that truth will get out, eventually._**

_**Things are strange 'here'. New styles. New technologies. Daniel would like it here. **_

_**Hurm. Must stop living in past. **_

_**One thing the same: the scum and filth caked throughout this city's underbelly. Night time reveals humanity's true depraved nature. Crime and sin rampant. Always will be. Taken upon myself to clean up. **_

_**Another thing different but same: Masks. The abundance of it. Everywhere, there are Masks. In the paper. On television. On Internet. All over the world. Saw one swinging from buildings in red and blue tights. Hurm. Going through 'Superhero Boom'. **_

_**They are, different, from my world's Masks. They have powers. Super powers. They are respected. Scorned. Hated. Loved. Ignored. They are naïve. Soft. Weak. **_

_**Different, but same. **_

_**All have strange fetish for tights. Hurm. Must investigate connection with powers.**_

_**Don't know why Jon sent me here. No humanity left in him. Why care? Saw something in future? Felt guilt? Accident? Will contemplate further.**_

_**Just finished a night of patrol. Found and stopped traces of drug ring over past few weeks. All point to a 'Boss'. Will get his just rewards eventually. **_

_**The filth brought up interesting news. Said the Boss hired a hitman. Will be after me. Hurm. I thank him by breaking his neck. Less painful that way.**_

_**Let them come. I'll be waiting.**_

* * *

The City that Never Sleeps was haunted. Haunted by a force of nature, relentless, unforgiving. A force given human form, hidden beneath a mask, a trench coat, and elevator shoes. It bled with the shadows, striking out in an instant, delivering justice on those who would dare to deserve it.

Just another night for Rorschach.

The masked vigilante was following a trail to another crime. A trail of broken fingers and shattered shot glasses. A large shipment of drugs was being delivered. A new batch of blood to feed the underworld's starving parasites. The informant was quick to give the location up. Hurm. Usually took at least two fingers before they squealed. Flitting from shadow to shadow, Rorschach arrived at the target area, and waited.

He wasn't disappointed.

A plain moving van drove up and stopped, unloading its passengers. Five men got out. They walked up to a door and knocked, each looking left and right. The door opened, and they walked in. When they walked out, they carried bags of white powder. Rorschach struck.

He leapt from his vantage point, and like an avenging angel, rained Judgement upon his first victim. The man crumpled to the ground, dropping his package. His buddies noticed what happened, but failed to pull their guns out quick enough. Rorschach reached for a man to his right, and pulled the gun from its owner. A quick strike to the gut and the man was down. Rorschach turned to the others. In a flurry of fists and feet, all four were down. Too easy. Rorschach cocked the gun he held, and aimed it.

A noise above made him look up, and hastily jump away. Just in time, for a red blur appeared where he stood moments before.

"Boy, am I glad I didn't shoot you. Well, I _am_ gonna shoot you, just not, you know, secretly, from far away."

Rorschach narrowed his eyes and studied the newcomer with apprehension. He was decked out in a red and black costume, face completely covered by his mask. He was carrying enough weaponry to start a one-man army. On his back was strapped two sheathed swords. From his stance and movements, Rorschach could tell this guy was a professional. And from the amount of weight he must have been carrying, this guy was also strong. Not your typical run-of-the-mill thug. Rorschach smirked. Finally, some action.

He struck immediately, catching the other man off-guard. He sent a well-aimed kick in his direction and could see the other's eyes widening before barely managing to block it. Hurm. Reflexes were good. But Rorschach didn't stop there. He used the momentum to bring his other leg up, and smashed it into the guy's head. The costumed man flew into the wall with a muffled thud, and didn't move. Rorschach lifted the gun and fired a shot into the man's heart.

"Hurm. Best they could come up with? Pathetic." He tossed the gun away, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. But as he walked away, a voice floated up from behind.

"Now I'm REALLY glad I didn't shoot you. Thank you, voices in my head."

Damn! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Should've known a professional would be wearing body armour. Next it'll be in the head. He pulled his hands out, getting into a ready stance.

"What, you wanna fight again? But we haven't even made up from the last one!" The red-clad hitman shrugged. "Oh well. I'll take your head as an apology." He pulled out his two swords (katana, as it were) and charged.

Rorschach spotted a discarded pole and quickly brought it up to block the other man's slash. The weapons made a CHING sound that echoed off the walls.

"So, I was perched on the rooftop, with my sniper rifle trained at this spot," The man was talking as he took another swipe at Rorschach. "I waited here for a good while, too. Got bored eventually and shot some pigeons. Got bored some more and shot some taillights. And man, you are GOOD. I didn't even see you until the goons arrived.

"I was ready to put one right through your noggin, but Yellow-Thought-Box convinced me to go down and confront you face-to-face. By the way, cool mask. How'd you get it to move? Does it come in red?"

Rorschach was beginning to become very irritated. This guy talked too much, and when he did, it made no sense. He speculated that was due to some form of insanity, or lack of brain cells. He didn't know he was right, on both accounts.

"You know, you're shorter than I expected."

That did it. With a feral snarl, Rorschach swung the pole with all his strength. The offending idiot brought up his swords to block, but due to the sheer power in the blow, it resulted in his swords being flung across the floor.

"Whoa! Struck a nerve, did I? Yeah, I tend to do that. You'd be amazed by how many people get annoyed when I simply ask if they'd stopped dieting. It's not like I called them fat or anything, right?Now as for Agent X,( or as I like to call him, Manuel) calling him fat is a complimen-" His implied insult was interrupted as Rorschach rammed the pole into his solar plexus. The raving lunatic doubled over wheezing. Rorschach took this chance to slam the guy into the ground.

"Hurm. Talk too much." Rorschach raised his weapon over the man's head, but the skid of tires interrupted him.

Several black cars pulled to a stop at where they were, effectively blocking the two fighter's paths. Men poured out from them, wielding firearms and training them on Rorschach and, unsurprisingly, the man in red. The largest of them stepped forward, a cruel smirk on his ugly mug.

"End of the line for you, freak. The Boss is here to collect his due. And as for you, Deadpool, consider your contract terminated. Permanent like."

Rorschach heard the man, Deadpool, shout, "It's a trap!" before acknowledging the distinct click of guns bring loaded. Stupid, stupid, STUPID! He should've known! The trail was too easy. The job finished too quick. And this loud-mouthed moron was just a distraction. He made a mistake, and looked to be his last one.

But just as he heard the shot of the first gun, a hand grabbed his wrist, and everything disappeared.

* * *

**Notes: Dearie me, Rorschach's so hard to write! So...INTENSE. So...Right-wing. So...descriptive. It's what makes him cool, though. Now, Deadpool, (or as I like to call him, DEA-POO), I can relate...Not the cancer-Weapon-X-experiment-torture-crazy-Death's-his-girlfriend thing, but more the talk-yourself-into-an-argument-with-yourself-then-LOSE-crazy thing. I'm sure most of you are like that too. That's why you're reading this story. 'Cuz the voices tell you to. Listen to them! Wanna know something funny? I'm doing this when I SHOULD be listening to what my teacher is saying about calculus...You know what?...Fuck calculus…and doors. Later.**

**- Chindu, Prince of Darkness**

**P.S. WTF is a 'kumquat'? Seriously! I thought it was a squash! SOMEONE TELL ME! PLEEEAAASE!**


	2. Chapter 2: Shake Hand with the,uhLINE!

**Good Cop, Bad Cop**

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**Chapter Too! Alright! So, thanks to those of you who have reviewed this story! It's very lonely here in this section of the Internet. Reviews help keep us warm and fed and stuff. And uh, no offense to any Republicans, or as we here in Canada like to call them, Albertans! HAHAHAHAHAHA...no. I'm sorry. By the way, you know what's really fun? TEXT ADVENTURES. Remember them? The ones with no graphics and just line after line of dead ends and disappointments? Yeah, me neither. Okay, read the chapter now. Whatever. **

**Disclaimer: Rorschach owned by Watchmen, Deadpool owned by Marvel, and whatever lines you think you've heard somewhere else before probably belongs to somebody and I won't take credit for it unless you can't prove it belongs to them after which I will forcibly take credit for (using pliers) and screw all of you who says otherwise...yeah, no.**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Shake Hands with the...uh...LINE!**

"Whew, that was a close one."

_No kidding. One more second and we would've been mincemeat._

**Don't you mean '**_**dead**_ **meat'?**

_That too. _

"Damn, teleporter's shot. Better get Weasel to fix it. Another stunt like that and we won't be able to keep our head attached._"_

_Speaking of which, heads up._

"Huh?" Deadpool ducked just in time as a chair came sweeping over his head. "Hey! Watch where you're swinging that thing!" He ducked again as the chair missed his face by mere inches. "Is this any way to treat the guy who saved your life?"

_Why DID we save him again?_

**Because, he looked so lonely and helpless that we just HAD to take him. Can we keep him? Huh? Can we? We'll walk it and feed it and everything!**

"Taking care of a pet is a huge responsibility. Are you sure we're up for it?"

_What about Bob? He turned out fine._

"Bob's more like a minion."

_What's the difference?_

"Good point. Alright, this is getting out of hand." He blocked another attack and quickly drew out his guns. "Now, why don't we all calm down and express our anger in a more positive manner? Let's start with Ink-Blot: How angry would you be if I turned you into Swiss cheese?"

**Mmm, cheese.**

The masked man stopped his attacks and let his weapon (the now severed chair leg) drop.

"Good! We're making excellent progress. You'll be ready to join normal society before you know it!" Deadpool's comment, however, seemed to incite another bout of anger from the other man. The mercenary needed to evade a couple more punches before threatening to use his guns. "Back to square one, then. Actually, screw squares. I like circles better."

"Hurm. Want to kill me, do it now." The trench-coated man growled out. "Otherwise, leaving." He turned to the door, but Deadpool let off a shot in his direction, stopping him in his tracks.

"Why the rush? We haven't even had coffee yet. Come on, you know you want to."

Staying here a minute longer seemed to be the last thing the masked vigilante wanted to do, but nevertheless he turned from the door. Deadpool grinned.

**Let's name him Spot.**

* * *

_**Rorschach's Journal: December 2nd**_

_**Found myself in cheap, rundown apartment. Beer cans and Mexican fast-food wrappings cover the floor. Mirrors the corruption and filth covering this city. Posters of a wrinkled female actress plastered on walls, advertising herself like a piece of meat. Currently held hostage by unnamed assailant. Talks too much. **_

"Hey, whatcha' doin'?"

_**Has no concept of PRIVACY. Dresses in red-black skin tight bodysuit. Favours use of large guns whenever possible. Possibly homosexual. Or overcompensating. Hurm. Will investigate further.**_

"HEY. That incident with Cable was a life-and-death situation! He ate me! ATE ME! And that dream was Black Mamba's doing...I think. I had a wife!...I think. I'm not too sure any more. Those blockheads change my origin story so much that it's almost as screwed up as me…yeah, I know, eh?...no, not THAT screwed…s-shut up!"

_**Holds irritating conversations with self. Signs of mental instability, psychosis, and dissociative identity disorder. Self-centered and narcissistic. Hurm. Possibly Republican. MUST investigate further.**_

"Alright, the insults I can take; they're more or less true. BUT I DRAW THE LINE AT POLITICIANS!"

Rorschach closed his journal and tucked it away in his pocket. After the sudden trip with the teleporter (which was horribly reminiscent of Dr. Manhattan's favourite mode of travel), he needed some sense of stability. And since there were no criminals to mutilate (the moment passed), he chose to document his thoughts. However, _someone_ was making it very difficult to focus on writing.

"Why bring me here?" he asked. "Was paid to kill me. Why help me?"

The other man blinked and cocked his head. Then his eyes lit up in a smile as he asked, "Can I call you 'Yoda'?"

"Answer me!"

Deadpool shrugged nonchalantly. "Why should I do the job for free? My contract was, if I may quote, 'Terminated. Permanent like.' Besides, I'm sure you'd like a shot at Mr. Boss-man as much as I do. C'mon, whaddya say? I'll even let you have the fun of killing him!"

Rorschach thought about his proposal. A partnership with this character went completely against his principles. He should never compromise. This man was a killer-for-hire, the worst kind of scum. A parasite that fed off the deaths of innocents. His hands were drenched in blood.

But then again, so were his.

He didn't know who the top dogs were in the criminal world of this place, didn't know where the hangouts were. Finding them would take up too much time, which would mean letting other crooks run rampant. He needed someone with connections to point the way, so he can deliver justice. And after what occurred tonight, he needed someone with skills. It went against everything he fought for, everything he believed in. But something nagged at him to accept the offer.

"Hurm…Fine."

Besides, this way he could keep an eye on him.

Deadpool pumped a fist into the air. "YES! Can someone say, 'Deadpool Team-Up #901'?"

"One condition."

"No nudity. Got it."

"No." This was beginning to seem like a bad idea. "Do this MY way. Afterwards, cut ties."

"Ooh, feisty. Alright, then. So…" Deadpool stuck out a gloved hand. "Hi, I'm Deadpool, A.K.A the-Merc-with-a-Mouth, A.K.A. Beatrice 'Bea' Arthur's greatest, most devoted fan, A.K.A. Wade Wilson…that last one is up for debate."

"Hurm…" Rorschach reluctantly pulled his hand out from the folds of his coat, and shook the offered limb. "Rorschach."

"Awesome! Oh man, this is gonna be great! Wait 'til I introduce you to my good buddy, the Penetrator!"

"Leaving. Now."

"What? Wait, no! You pronounce it with an 'i'! It makes a very subtle yet very important difference!"

* * *

After clearing up some well-warranted confusion ("I LIKE _WOMEN_!"), Deadpool convinced Rorschach to pay a visit to his 'good buddy'. Needless to say, Weasel was less than pleased.

"Holy shit, Deadpool! Do you know who that is?" Weasel's terrified voice floated from behind the closed door of his apartment.

"Um, Freddy Krueger rebooted?"

"Ye- No! He's the serial killer who targets criminals! Haven't you been watching the news?"

Deadpool scratched his chin. "If by 'watching', you mean skipping while channel surfing then…no."

"Wade! Do you know what he does? He leaves his victim's bodies mutilated in the alleys! Strings their corpses up on lampposts! Loots their pockets!"

Deadpool slowly turned to the man in question. "Is this true, Rorschach? Do you kill people in horrible ways then loot their corpses?"

Rorschach merely cocked his head. "Need money. Dead don't. Why matter?"

Deadpool simply stared at him for a few moments, then grabbed the shorter man in a bear hug crying, "Where have you been all my life?"

Rorschach seized up like he was being electrocuted. "_Hurk_! Let. Go."

"Oh God, kill me now," Weasel moaned from behind his door.

Deadpool leaned into the peephole with Rorschach in tow, who was still trying to free himself from the mercenary's grasp. "C'mon, Weas, does this look like the face of a homicidal killer to you?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, you're right. But would you really rather have me force my way in? Remember last time?" His gun clicked for good measure.

Weasel gave a defeated sigh and unlocked the door. But as he opened it, there came sounds of a scuffle, and he found Deadpool wheezing on the floor, with Rorschach glaring (at least he assumed) at the downed man.

"Do that again and I'll kill you."

Deadpool lifted his head and smiled. "Isn't he precious?"

Weasel looked at his friend, then at the trench-coated man. "I think I'm beginning to like you."

Rorschach stepped into the small cramped apartment that was Weasel's home. Bits and pieces of unfinished inventions cluttered every visible part of the room. Complicated pieces of machinery that would have had NiteOwl drooling lined the shelves, blinking and beeping at rapid paces, measuring God knows what. Computer screens and monitors were flashing various codes of information and, from what Rorschach could glimpse before Weasel hurriedly closed the window, websites featuring some _suggestive_ forms of entertainment. Hurm. Gross.

The scrawny man who resided here looked no better than the state of his room. His spikey messy hair was jostled at all angles, and a shadow of a stubble formed on his chin. Glasses too large for him drooped down his nose.

"So uh, you guys want a drink?" Weasel asked uncertainly.

"Your beer better be cold this time or so help me-…" Deadpool's threats trailed off as he made his way to the kitchen. Weasel shifted uncomfortably as he was left alone with the supposed serial killer.

"And, what about you?" He asked nervously. The moving blots on the other man's face was constantly changing, yet held no clue as to what his expression may be. It was unnerving, to say the least.

"Hurm. Coffee. With sugar. Lots of sugar." Came a scratchy growl.

"Sure, I'll get right on that." Said Weasel as he quickly scampered to the kitchen. It was a good opportunity to confront Deadpool about his new 'friend'.

* * *

"What do you mean what do I mean?" Deadpool asked.

"I'm asking how you got paired up with this guy when you yourself are a prime example of the type of people he goes after!" Weasel desperately tried to reason with his friend.

"…I don't think Rorschach would appreciate you calling him a pedo…"

"Wade, focus!"

"Relax, Weasel. You're more panicky than Bob is when he's wearing women's underwear. Me n' Spot made a deal: Team-up and pool our resources towards finding the Boss, then killing him."

Weasel's eyebrow arched sceptically. "Uh-huh, and what happens _after_?"

"We walk heroically off into the sunset to the theme song of _Turner and Hooch_?"

"Try 'the police find unidentified body in a secluded back alley'."

Deadpool chuckled and opened a can of beer. "Weasel, Weasel, Weasel: Who do you take me for? If Rorschach wants to have a go at me, fine. I'm more than a match for him."

"He knocked you out on my doorstep!"

"That one didn't count!" Deadpool protested, "He caught me by surprise!" He sipped on his beer and grumbled like a child who just lost a game of Battleship. Weasel sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"There's just something, _off_, about him, Wade. I don't know what it is. It's like there's this strange vibe around him that feels unnatural, like he doesn't belong here…*sniff*…You smell something?" Deadpool also took a whiff.

"No."

"Hurm. Will be leaving, then."

Weasel turned in shock to find Rorschach standing in the entrance to the kitchen.

"Oooh, busted!" Deadpool whispered. "Nice job in offending a known killer, dude. I'll see you at the funeral."

"No, wait! Rorschach!" Weasel sprinted from the kitchen and into the living room, where the masked vigilante was making his way to the door. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like that!"

"Different words, same context." Growled the masked man. "Know when not wanted, unlike _some_." The last part was obviously directed at the beer-chugging mercenary.

"Come on, Rorschach. Don't take it personally. I mean, I'm friends with _him_, remember?" The last part was also directed at the beer-chugging mercenary.

"One of these days, I'll be opted to take that as an offence," muttered Deadpool, "but for now, Courier-Font-Box tells me it's a compliment." He crushed the empty can and tossed it haphazardly on the floor. "Besides, we can't leave until Weasel fixes my teleporter. Until then, feel free to trash his room 'til your little heart gives out."

Rorschach growled in annoyance, but took a spot against the wall and stood there.

"Uh, right. So, lemme just get you your coffee and I'll start working on that." Weasel ducked back into the kitchen.

It took an hour for Weasel to get the teleporter fixed, and another hour to re-teach Deadpool how to use it. Needless to say, Rorschach was very irritated by the end of it. With the combined force of Deadpool's inane babbling and the constant beeping from the machines, if it wasn't for the bag of sugar cubes he'd swiped from Weasel's cupboard, Rorschach was sure he'd be pulling his hair out. He had to remind himself that this was all for ridding the world of a major crime lord, and that he needed Deadpool _functional_ to find this character. He had started to rethink his priorities when Deadpool announced that they were ready to leave.

"Thanks, Weas! I'll be back next week for you to fix it again." Wade clipped the teleporter to his belt so that it fit snugly with his other gizmos. "And get that beeping thing fixed. It's almost as annoying as I am. And you know how much I hate competition."

"That's just my chronal particle tracer. It tracks the four possible egress points based on the diminishing strength as the chronal particles degrade along the timeline…" Weasel trailed off at the zoned-out expression on Deadpool's face, and even (to a degree) Rorschach's. He sighed. "…It's picking up traces from your time-traveling shtick."

"Well why didn't you say so in the first place, instead of speaking in some strange geeky language? How did you ever get your Green Card like that?"

Weasel picked up the tracer and examined it. "Actually, this is the first time it's been acting up so much. Those particles you picked up should have been dispersed by now, and any scant traces left shouldn't be making this much of a ruckus-"

"Yeah, whatever. Good luck with your science project, Weasel. Us REAL men have some huntin' to do!" And with that, Deadpool and Rorschach left. As he did so, the device in Weasel's hands stopped its constant noise, though it still gave a weak chirp now and then. Curious, Weasel hooked it up to his computer and analyzed the data. What he found was incredible.

* * *

**Notes: I can see that nobody has given me an answer as to what a friggin' kumquat is. I smell a conspiracy! Deadpool's buddies are so cool. One's a kidnapped brainwashed coward and the other's a nerdy techno-geek. Oh, and the fat clone dude. And we can't forget Rorschach! Right then. If you don't hear back from me then it's probably because I've unearthed a government conspiracy that involves genetically modifying kumquats to make them control our dream waves or some shit like that...Hmm. KUMQUATS.**

**-Chindu Prince of Darkness**


	3. Chapter 3: Reminiscence

**Good Cop, Bad Cop**

* * *

**Hoooly crap, I don't think I've ever updated so many stories before...cool. So...'sup? Characters may seem a bit...out of character 'cuz I kinda rushed because SOMEONE threatened to glue me to the behind of an Angel (WTF, man?) and, well it's three in the morning and I am friggin' tired. Oh hey, get ready for some awesome cameos in the next few chapters! Maybe. I dunno. **

**Disclaimer: Rorschach=Watchmen. Deadpool=Marvel. Star Wars=Star Trek?- NO! I'm sorry! Star Wars does not equal Star Trek! PLEASE DON'T KILL ME, NERDS!**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Reminiscence**

**So where to, good buddy?**

"I dunno. Where do you think we should go?"

Rorschach paused and gave the man beside him an incredulous look, unseen through his mask. "You tell me," he rasped out.

"I wasn't talking to you, Spotty." Deadpool waved him off. "Now let's see; what hive of scum and villainy can help us get a lead on our soon-to-be dearly departed boss-man?"

_Mos Eisley?_

**Star Wars references?**

"The _Hell House_! Of course! Come on, R2," Deadpool grabbed 'R2's wrist and activated his teleporter. "Beam me up, Scotty!"

_That's Star Trek, you dolt!-_

* * *

**Sister Margaret's school for wayward children was a place where unadulterated goodness ran thick in every hallway. In the fifties, it was infected by rats; most of whom, it turned out, were on the board of directors. The scandals that followed where of an unspeakable nature. Since then, Margaret's has been burned, condemned, demolished, rebuilt, burned again…but the rats have remained a constant…**

_Have you been going through our 90's comics again?_

**Maybe…**

_You can't use that as an intro, that's plagiarism. _

**Is not!...What's 'plagiarism'?**

_Never mind…_

**Oh, just let me finish! This chucklehead of an author couldn't think of anything more creative.**

_Fine._

**Welcome to…**

"…Hell House!"

**Damn it!**

Deadpool and Rorschach appeared before a dilapidated old building. What was once pristine and majestic, was now a run-down pile of planks barely held together by rusted nails. Weeds and tangled grass grew unchecked, transforming the lawn back to its wild origins. Shingles were missing from the roof, and the times had long since washed away its color. The windows were boarded up, but a faint light and voices came from behind them. Deadpool took a deep breath and drew in the musky scent of decaying wood and festering garbage. "Ah, just like I remembered it!"

Rorschach sniffed the air and looked around with a deepening frown. "Where are we?" He demanded. They weren't in New York anymore. This place had a different vibe than the city he'd patrolled for the past month. He was out of his territory, and Rorschach didn't like it one bit.

"I just told you; the Hell House." Deadpool explained. "If there was anywhere that could be connected to crimes across the country, it's this dump. We'll dig up a trail faster than Johnny Storm's resurrection."

"What?"

"Just dig." The mercenary grabbed his companion and dragged him towards the door. "Now let's introduce you to the folks." He kicked the door from its hinges and barged in. "Heeeeere's Deadpool!"

A sudden silence settled over the establishment's patrons. Deadpool's brow furrowed as he took in all the unfamiliar faces. There was a distinct lack of colourful costumes in the room. And girls. Pretty girls. "Who the hell are you people?"

_This place has really gone to the dumps. Look at all these plebs! _

"That's what we should be askin' you." Deadpool turned to see that a group of these newbies had gathered around him. The largest of them (and presumably the stupidest) led the pack and attempted to defend his 'territory'. "We don't take tresspasin' too kindly 'round here. 'Specially not from any costumed freaks."

"Oh well y'all are just migh'ty fine an' welcomin', ain't y'all's? Shoot, I's feels right at homes and such here." Deadpool replied with an exaggerated southern drawl.

**Hanging out with Outlaw was bound to have its uses. **

"Among other things…" The mercenary muttered with a smirk.

"Are you mockin' me?" The 'pack leader' took a threatening step towards Deadpool.

"Well, I sure ain't saying I had a good time with your mother last night. Speaking of which, I want my money back."

"Why ya little-!" A vein visibly popped on the larger man's forehead as he moved to grab the merc. His cohorts made a circle around them, excited for a brawl and shouting encouragements. Deadpool easily side-stepped his initial attack and gave the man a hard jab with his elbow. The man doubled over, winded, but recovered and gave a back-handed swipe. Deadpool dodged and countered with a kick that sent the other man flying.

Seeing their leader in a pinch, one of the gathered thugs took the opportunity to sneak up behind the distracted mercenary. He pulled back for a punch, when suddenly his arm was caught in a vice-like grip. A black and white mask loomed in his vision before a crack caught his attention, and pain caused him to collapse the ground.

Rorschach stared at the lowlife on the ground, then looked at those gathered around him. They were struck with a deafening silence as they stared at the man with the moving mask. He had simply stepped in and effortlessly crippled a man. Many of them recognized his face from the news, and fear started to grip them.

"Hey, thanks for the assist, partner, but I could've taken-"

SMACK!

Deadpool's sentence was cut short by a gloved fist to his face. He toppled over in a daze, staring up at the morphing mask.

"Finished?" Came Rorschach's rasping growl. He directed the question at both Deadpool and the establishment's patrons. They gave a few frantic nods and hurried back to their tables, or in the case of some others, straight out the door.

"What was that for?" The red-clad mercenary demanded as he picked himself off the floor. "Partners don't sock each other in the face! Okay, they sometimes do, but that's only during scenes of emotional climax, and I didn't get the memo that I broke the Buddy System by going to the bathroom by myself."

Rorschach literally growled at him. "We have a mission. Need a lead, fast. No time for distractions. Something _you_ are prone to."

"What's the fun of a quest without any side-quests?" Deadpool stated. "Can you imagine playing Zelda without going on any cock-runs or fishing trips? I know I can't."

Rorschach considered punching the guy again for good measure, when a shout came from the back of the room.

"What's all the ruckus out there? If I told you mooks once, I've told you a thousand times, NO FIGHTING ON THE PREMISES!" A large, middle-aged rotund man came waddling out, his face red and contorted in annoyance. "If you break anymore tables, I'll take it out of your– Deadpool?"

The merc in question turned at the sound of his name. "Whoa, watch it, wide-load. Careful where you park that."

"Deadpool! It IS you! You came back!" The man rushed over and grabbed Wade in a crushing bear-hug.

"H-hands off…the…merchandise..." Deadpool struggled out of the man's grip and drew out his guns. "I don't know who you are, tubby, but I don't swing that way."

_Which way DO you swing?_

"Quiet, you."

"Uh, don't you remember me, Wade?" Asked the man. "You've known me since way back."

Deadpool frowned as his jumbled mind tried to recall his memories. "You wouldn't happen to have been a chunky Vegas showgirl named Petunia, would you?"

"Maybe this will help." The proprietor rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a black mask. He put it over his eyes and spread out his arms. "Well?"

Wade studied the man again, and something clicked. "Wait, I know you. You're…C.F.!" Then he punched him hard in the gut.

Rorschach watched in fascination as Deadpool's fist sank into the other man's abdomen. The man's body contorted like rubber and bounced back, almost comically like in a cartoon. However, even with the force that Deadpool put into the punch, the man looked no worse for wear.

"Oomph! Ow, what did I do?"

"That's for hugging me in public. You were dropping my macho meter."

**Moooopeeed.**

"It's manly!"

_Sure it is._

* * *

_**Rorschach's Journal: December 3rd**_

_**Investigating possible leads on the Boss. Guided by a mercenary named Deadpool. Same one who was hired to kill me. No progress so far. Stuck in a filthy hovel for the dregs of society. They eke out a living through the pain of others. Should torch the entire place. Maybe that will be enough to cleanse the area. Deadpool is 'catching up' with a friend. He is standing on the table, chugging three beers at once, while other morons are cheering for him. These fools choose the biggest fool as their king. Hurm. **_

_**Need to speed things up. Trail will go cold, and I don't intend on losing my target because of Deadpool. Must rid myself of the filth soon. **_

"Hey Spot! Catch!"

Rorschach calmly dodged a beer bottle thrown at him, not even looking up from his journal.

"Aw man! That was a perfectly good bottle wasted! 'Wasted' HA!"

In irritation, Rorschach snapped his book closed and went to the throng of drunken mercenaries. He stormed past Deadpool, kicking the table he was on and making the merc fall over in his drunken stupor, and grabbed the rotund proprietor by the collar.

"Need information on The Boss," He growled. This whole night has been stressful for him and he wanted results. "Don't give it quick enough, don't keep fingers. Rubber can snap too."

"That's no way to ask for something," Deadpool sauntered over from the crowd. Rorschach glared at him from beneath his mask, daring him to intervene. But the man surprised him by grabbing his friend and tossing the poor guy at the wall. C.F. made a comical bounce from the wall to the floor as Deadpool turned to his partner and grinned. "THAT'S how you ask for something." Picking up his 'friend', he slammed him against the wall and asked "Gimme all the contracts for New York that involve a job with a crime syndicate. You ARE still running Patch's stall, right?"

C.F. didn't even seem fazed. Threats must have been a daily occurrence with Deadpool. "Yeah, yeah, I'll get 'em for you. Lemme off, would'ya?" Deadpool let him go.

"By the way, why ARE you running the Hell House?" Asked Wade. "Where's Patch? Did that old midget finally retire?"

"Wade," C.F. said slowly, "Patch has been dead for _ten years_."

Rorschach could've sworn he saw confusion in the white eyes of his counterpart. He didn't know who this Patch was, but he seemed to be within the merc's circle of acquaintances.

"Ten years?" Deadpool frowned. "I could've sworn I was in here last week."

"You haven't been back ever since the T-Ray incident. Your head still frazzled, Wade?"

"I got it fine-tuned a while back. Guess some things you can't fix. So how'd the pixie bite it?"

"You know; disgruntled customer, got a bad job, botched it and blamed it on Patch. Clichéd stuff, really. Poisoned those 'specialty' chocolates he liked." C.F. unlocked the door to his shabby little office. The rickety stool the previous diminutive proprietor stood on still waited there for its user. Rorschach decided to wait outside the already crowded room, but he could still hear their conversation. "You should've seen the bastard after Fenway got through with him, though. Whacked his head 'til it did a 180."

Wade chuckled at the image. "Good man, Fenway. Had 'Camaraderie' written on all over. I know 'cuz I took a Sharpie and wrote it on him that time he got wasted so bad. What happened to him?"

C.F. wrenched open a rusty file cabinet that was overflowing with job requests and assassination contracts. "Retired. And get this; he got a job coaching the Little Leaguers! Him! Teachin' kids!" The two mercenaries laughed at the thought of their friend trying to handle a bunch of brats armed with baseball bats. "As for me; after Patch was given a proper sendin' off (we torched the house of the bastard that did him in) no one really wanted the job, so I took it. Without you here, someone needed to keep these rookies in line." He collected the necessary files and handed them to Deadpool. "Here's all the New York jobs I currently have. If I get any new ones I'll send 'em your way."

"Thanks man, I owe you one."

Rorschach and Deadpool had a foot out the door when C.F. called out "Just don't take a decade to visit! And bring your friend with you! He sure knows how to keep things interesting!"

"Will do, C.F.!" Deadpool waved as he activated his teleporter, and the two unlikely partners vanished.

* * *

Back at his apartment, Wade cleared a spot on his coffee table/footstool and threw the files on top. "There's bound to be a job request from the Boss or something that links to him in there," he said as Rorschach looked through them. "We go there and you work your charm on them while I do clean-up." He let out a sigh as he plopped down on the couch. "Man, what a day. First I fight you, then get shot at, then fight you, then fight you again, then fight people fighting me fighting you, then fight you fighting C.F., then find out Patch is dead. I'm beginning to see a pattern." He let out a yawn. "I don't know about you, but I'm beat. Literally. You can crash here if you want. Don't let the bedbugs bite; they hurt like a bitch." He got up and retreated to his room.

As Rorschach read the forms, he had to grudgingly admit that he too was tired from the night's events. It stemmed far from his usual habits. His typical night involved a patrol through the alleys, busting anyone who dared to commit a crime in his presence, or on the trail of one of the criminals. When day broke, he'd retire back to his nondescript apartment. The money he took from the felons was enough for the rent and basic rations. It was pretty much the same as back home. Except, he needed to be extra cautious due to the abundance of Masks. There were always a few of them when he was roaming around, and he avoided them like the plague. No need to draw unwanted attention.

Rorschach hadn't taken on any superpowered villains yet, not until he researched and adapted to their strange powers. One wrong move could kill him, if what happened tonight was anything to go by, and that was with a regular crime boss. The other 'heroes' had them under control. Just barely. Frankly, he was disgusted by how these supposed 'heroes' were regarded in this world. Sure, the people respected them, but it was like being distracted by a novelty, and the affects will soon wear off. The way they pranced around, 'fighting' supervillains and blathering about truth and justice was quite revolting to him. Their naivety and adherence to a 'no killing' code of conduct was infuriating. Did they know how much damage they cause every time they fight a supervillain? Did they know of the casualties that occur? Casualties that could have been prevented if they actually had the guts to finish the criminals off.

'Heroes' like them were everywhere, in his world or this one. Always trying to cling to that idyllic fantasy of justice, and trying to achieve it through useless means. They were cowards, all of them, too weak and scared to take on the full brunt of the responsibility of justice. Someone had to do it, and that someone was him. Just as he did before.

Thinking about it, Rorschach had no idea how to get back to his world. Thanks to Dr. Manhattan, Daniel would've believed him dead, and Jon (if he was still on Earth) wouldn't deny it. But he had to get back! Millions died, and they needed to know the truth behind it all, that it was all a deception created by Veidt. But how? How would he return? From what he knew, there were quite a few Masks who dabbled in inter-dimensional travel, but Rorschach didn't think it wise to contact them just yet. He's already cast himself in a rather negative light (homicidal serial-killer tends to do that) and truth be told, he didn't trust any of them, either. So for now, he was stuck here, regretfully with a compulsory tag-along.

Speaking of, his host was as strange as one could get. Deadpool obviously had some sort of mental issue going on, talking to himself and, from what Rorschach deduced from his conversation at the Hell House, memory loss. It was dangerous to be consorting with a character like him, but he had little choice. It took weeks for Rorschach to track down the Boss, and he'd be damned if he let it go. He'll sell his soul to the devil if he had to, if it meant taking this guy down. The Boss had a reputation of extortion, drug trade, and murder, and was as depraved as any could find.

Deadpool, however, was another matter entirely. Rorschach's initial impression of Wade was a selfish, narcissistic psychopath who killed for entertainment and money. His mental problems played in a bit of it, but his personality screamed villain. To top it off, Deadpool's aggravating behaviour grated on his nerves. But after witnessing the change in him at the mention of the time-lapse and Patch's death, Rorschach saw something like a lost and confused child seeking attention in the mercenary.

He shook his head. It was a bad idea to compromise. The longer he was in the presence of the mercenary, the more familiar he would become. That would cloud his judgement and hinder his actions. He needed to finish this issue soon and cut his ties with Deadpool. If nothing then for the sake of his sanity.

* * *

**Notes: Hey, let's continue our stimulating conversation about kumquats! I'd like to thank those of you who gave those wonderfully useful reviews telling me what they are. Too bad I don't believe you. I STILL think they're a type of squash. Screw you all who think otherwise. Heck, any of you Science majors out there? Genetically combine a Kumquat and a Squash and called it a...Kumsquat. I'd do it myself but I think I failed Math. I'll be looking forward for your thesis in the reviews. G'day.**

**- Chindu, Prince of Darkness**


	4. Chapter 4: Along Came a Spider

**Good Cop, Bad Cop**

* * *

**DUDES. Before you read anymore, click on my profile, and look at my avatar pic. Eh? EH? Look at it. Just look at it! Aww yeah. Look at the epicosity of my nerdstromometerthingy. Somthing. Yeah, I went to Comic-Con (a Canadian version of Comic-Con, actually), and I went as AWESOME. Well, one of 'em's me, anyway. The other guy's just some random guy I saw and we got together and created a little AWESOME (No, it wasn't ItsJustSomeRandomGuy, it was just some random guy...dude). Now that that's over, a little shout-out to my homeboy readers (That's you, and you, and YOU.) Thanks, Sean Mallory-1 for all your awesome ideas, Tsuki . Yuujiro for the flattering comment, and Zanegar, for slightly threatening me into updating (slightly). And of course, thanks to all of those reviewers and for telling me what a Kumquat is. Now I know (not really). ON TO DEH STORAY!**

**Disclaimer: Thank you, Alan Moore for creating Rorschach and Fabian Nicieza and Rob Liefeld for creating Deadpool and ItsJustSomeRandomGuy for bringing them together.**

**Edit 5/21/12: A little shout-out to my new homie 12ofHearts for correcting my misuse of 'Jail-bait'. Large burly men are not the same as attractive under-aged girls. Now I know. Thanks, mate.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Along Came a Spider...And Then I Squished It**

**You think he'll like it?**

"What's not to like? It's new, it's fresh, and it's written by me!"

_That's the problem._

"You're just jealous that I have hands."

**You're right; we are. When are we taking over his body again?**

_Soon, my friend, soon._

**Sweet!**

"Hey! No body possession unless I say you can! Now let's get this show on the road! And a one, a two, a 1, 2, 3, 4!"

WHAAAAAAANNN!

The loud obnoxious sound of a Fender Stratocaster blasted its way around the tiny apartment room, knocking knickknacks off of shelves, shattering shot glasses, and damaging the eardrums of Wade's sleeping guest. Rorschach's eyes shot open, and he instinctively leapt from the couch into a crouched fighting stance, heart pounding and ears ringing. His muscles were tensed for combat as his mind raced over tactical advantages and processed his surroundings. It was at this point that Deadpool started to sing.

"'_Rorschach and Deadpool! _

_A nut and a fool!_

_He's a mental case,_

_Music's not his thing._

_So I wrote the theme;_

_I'm so talented._

_Copywrite Deadpool!_

_Copy and I'll sue!_

_I think that the song should end right_-' Hey, no wait! What are you doing with that? No! P-Put it down! No, not…Don't-! NOOOOOOOO! GISELLE!"

_Told you he wouldn't like it._

Deadpool knelt by the remains of his precious guitar, her shattered pieces scattered across the floor, and wept. "Oh Giselle, poor, sweet, Giselle. No one understood me better than you. You had the sweetest chords, and the loudest solos. No one can ever replace you! *sob* Giselle, Giselle...I wonder if your sister's free? Oh, Luciiiille~!"

When he noticed that his guest was quietly fuming, Deadpool decided to repent and directed Rorschach towards the kitchen.

"Aw, don't be like that, Spot. Just a bit of harmless fun! Now, who's up for pancakes?" Giddily, he skipped over to the stove and began producing pancakes in industrial quantities. Rorschach, unable to ignore the gnawing hunger in is stomach, reluctantly sat at the table. With their pancakes served, both masked men began to douse their breakfast with an unhealthy amount of syrup and ate with the mannerisms of starved baboons. Rorschach couldn't help but notice the scars and tumours that covered Deadpool's exposed face and was vaguely curious. Wade made note of the unkempt stubble and grime that dotted Rorschach's visage, along with a deep weariness non-existent on the faces of the usual superheroes he meddled with.

"So," Deadpool propped his chin on his hands and stared across the dining table, fluttering his unseen eyelashes. "Tell me about yourself…"

"No." Was the cold reply.

**Oooh! Rejected**_._

"Come on! That's what you say to me after I saved you, sheltered you, fed you, bathed you…"

_Uh…might wanna rethink that last one._

"…you owe it to me as your partner! Besides, everyone knows a good Buddy/Cop story needs an emotional scene where they spill the beans of their tragic past and come to realize how both characters are actually the same, in a way. What do you say? I'll even throw in my backstory."

**Which one? The one that says we're a hairy, homicidal identity-thief, the one that says we're the son of Loki, or the one that says we're a blue-eyed blonde-haired hoser from Canada? Or was it Ohio?**

"I'll tell you all of them! Deal?" Wade bargained.

"…No." Was the ever cold reply.

_Ever read that book, 'She's Just Not That Into You'? Well…_

"But-!" The merc's retort was cut off by Rorschach's no-nonsense tone.

"No pointless questions, focus on the mission." He threw a small pile of papers on the table. "Looked through the folder the fat man gave us. Focused on large-scale jobs, assassinations, bodyguards, organized crime. Found several that fit the bill. We split up and investigate; find out who's on the end of the leash. You have yours, I have mine. One week; meet for debrief. Questions?" He gave Deadpool the chance to speak. He should've known better.

"You talk funny. Is it normal for you to talk in broken sentences? How did you ever pass English? Are you an immigrant? Are you an illegal immigrant? Are you an illegal alien? Are you an alien? Are you Mexican? No hablo Español?"

The vigilante didn't reply, but simply stood and walked towards the door. He paused as he opened the door, and finally grunted out a response.

"Compliments to the chef, complaints to the company." And disappeared into the hallway.

Wade sat in his chair and stared at the door for several minutes. That is, until his mouth remembered it could talk.

"I don't know about you, but that was the COOLEST ONE-LINER EVER!"

**I know, right? It was so hard-boiled, it could've come straight from a black and white film! And he already fits the color scheme!**

_That, or Clint Eastwood. We could all use a little Eastwood in our diet._

"That is so going on our _Cool Things to Say _list, right after 'Knock, knock, Mo'suckra!'"

**Alright!...What were we supposed to do again?**

_**Rorschach's Journal: December 11th**_

_**A week has passed, a week spent trudging through the dredges of the city, a week spent sorting the trash, searching for the source. The more I stay steeped in its grime, the more I eliminate it, the more I realize: Superpowers are useless. Useless, because the wielder is useless.**_

**_Self-imposed limitations. Restrictions. Public scrutiny. Squander it, limit it, hamper it, _fear_ it. Inhuman strength, for lifting rocks. State-of-the-art weaponry, for children's entertainment. Telepathic mind-control, for creativity. Many times, _every _time, I see them let the filth walk free. They should realize; Prisons can't cure plagues. _**

**_But there seems to be one who understands. Alias 'The Punisher', aka 'Frank Castle'. Ex-cop. Family murdered, wages one-man war against crime. Often shown on TV documentaries on criminal minds, right after mine. No powers; employs conventional war weaponry, less-than-conventional tactics. An ally? One who understands what it means to fight? To _use_ his skills? A Mask not afraid of the dark?_**

_**Hurm. Of course not. **_

_**One blatant flaw: sympathy for whores. One exploited many times. A liability. A restriction. A weakness. A small cut can fester, if disease finds it. An ally with weakness…but an ally. I'm not the only one on the hunt. **_

_**Investigation coming up empty. Three of the leads are only small fry, but I cleaned up anyway. Same results with Deadpool. Don't know how he handled it, don't care. Last chance tonight. Warehouse raid; smugglers, thugs, drugs. Same routine, different night. We double-team this, and hope for results. **_

_**... ...**_

He was running. His legs protested in agony; his lungs screamed for air; his heart pounded like a rowing drum, demanding him to go faster, faster. He ran for his life. His footsteps echoed in the dark alley, his own gasping breaths louder than they should be in the silence of the night.

Behind him, the shadows moved.

He didn't mean to kill her. Not really. But the bitch was asking for it. She struggled too much. She was gonna scream. The others were like that too. He didn't mean to kill them, either. It wasn't his fault! So why was that _thing_ after him?

A fallen trashcan tripped him, and he met the ground with a thud. He tried to untangle his legs from the mess, tried to crawl away into the lighted street, to safety, but he seized up in fear when he glanced at the approaching shadow.

What stood out the most was the mask; the ever-changing black shapes that flowed across a white canvas, mesmerizing to look at, yet terrifying to behold. He was transfixed by its appearance. It made no sound as it approached him, non-existent eyes boring into his soul, seeking Vengeance, imparting Judgement. It loomed ever closer, spelling doom…

His legs, which he thought had failed him, were given one last shot of adrenaline in an effort to preserve his life. He kicked out violently, desperate to escape that condemning gaze. The light was so close, someone should be there, to see him, to help him…

"Hey!"

A voice cut through the air like an arrow, splitting the darkness. He could see the masked shadow pause, hesitate. He was saved. He scrambled towards the voice. A shadow fell over him and he saw the silhouette of a man outlined by the light of the street lamp. It shined atop his saviour like a halo, obscuring his face.

"T-Thank god!" The man finally stuttered out. "Y-you've got to help me!"

"Hey buddy, are you ok?"

"A maniac in the alley's trying to kill me!" He chanced a glance back at the shadows. The mask was gone from sight, but he could feel the eyes on him, just beyond the light.

"A maniac? Where? I don't see any- Wait, I think，I think I do…"

Relief flooded him; the stranger believed him, and he seemed strong enough to handle himself. Plus, he was loaded with guns and swords and…and…

Wait, why is this man walking around with so much ordnance? Why was he dressed all in red? Why…?

"Hey! Spot! *whistle* Here, boy!"

The red-clad stranger was _calling out_ to the shadows and waving them over. To his horror, the white mask _appeared_ and started to approach them. Then it started to speak to the stranger, in a low, almost animalistic, growl.

"Not a _dog_. Do not like being treated as such." The words sounded as much like a retort as they did a threat.

"Well, have you ever heard of a cat named 'Spot'?" Oh God, they were having a _conversation_! His eyes darted between the two, and he had a sinking feeling of being trapped between a lion and a bear. "Anyways, this guy says there's a maniac on the loose. Is he talking about me or you?" Both sets of eyes were on him now.

"Hurm. Carl Stoker; banker, Democrat, suspected serial rapist. Police haven't found evidence. I did, in the back alley. Caucasian, blonde, 17 to 19, stabbed in heart by kitchen knife, after being raped. Heard her screams…Wasn't fast enough." The trench-coated terror dipped his head a little as if in remorse, but his clenched fists revealed it was fury. The other man put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey man, it's not your fault; it's his. You wanna kill him or should I?"

'Spot' wasn't responding, but was trying to break the hand that was on his shoulder.

"Ok, ok, I'll kill him."

Carl's eyes widened in alarm. This, this shouldn't be happening! He, he was a successful banker, for Christ's sake! "Please! Don't kill me!" He begged. Tears and snot ran down his face as he pleaded for his life. "I-I'm sorry! It was a mistake! I d-did a horrible thing. I-I won't do it again, I promise!"

The stranger's white eyes crinkled in a smile. "I know."

He didn't even hear the gunshot.

Rorschach stared at the bleeding corpse that lay at his feet. They always begged at the end, tried to atone for their sins when it finally mattered. Pathetic. So quick to end the lives of others, yet never failed to hesitate when it came to their own. These parasites were all the same. He stooped down and rummaged around for the wallet. Inside were a few credit cards, driver's license, and a few hundred dollars. Not bad; rent was due soon, anyway.

"Hmm, not a bad way for some quick cash. Gotta remember that next time I get a contract." Deadpool stood beside him, marvelling at his own handiwork. "But thanks to your little detour, we're a tad late for the party. If we hurry, we might still get a chance at the hors d'oeuvres."

The two quickly departed, leaving the bloody mess behind them.

"That was a badass intro you got!" Wade gushed as they stalked down the dimly lit streets. "I mean, first there's this guy who's scared shitless, running from some unseen horror in the night, and you're described only as 'The Shadow'. And the way your mask just pops out, using words with CAPITALS…why don't I get any badass intros? I'm the co-star, for Bea's sake!"

Rorschach didn't bother replying.

Seeing a lack of response from his companion, Deadpool turned his sights towards the heavens.

"Hey, you!"

Who, me?

"Yeah, you."

God?

"Tired of the lack of reviews?"

Yeah.

"Feeling uninspired and hopeless?"

Mmm-hmm.

"Well then, giving me a badass intro is the thing for you! And to help you, you get your very own personal trainer; ME!"

Hey yeah, that's not a bad idea- Wait a minute…get back into character!

"I am in character!" Wade stated. "All I'm asking for is a teeny-tiny reboot, it's not much! A sprinkle of awesomeness here, a pinch of badassery there…"

Get back to the story. God has spoken.

"But-"

GOD HAS SPOKEN.

"Just-"

MOPED!

"Fine! See if I give you any personal training then, you stingy bast-"

"Quiet!" Rorschach hissed, and dragged the merc into a darkened alley. "We're here."

It was a large, nondescript warehouse, one of many that littered the district. Its metal shutters were closed, but light flooded from its windows, strange at this time of night. Several vans were parked near the door, and the tell-tail glows of cigarettes revealed two guards. The two Masks quietly tread their way through the line of vehicles, and made short work of the guards.

"Now what?" Asked Deadpool. "There's no way we can get in through the front; they'll notice us for sure. Windows are a bust, they're secured to the wall. Want me to just shoot up the place?"

Rorschach examined the building. The doors were too exposed to go through, as well as the windows. The vents were too small for either of them. There was only one option, and he glimpsed it through the window.

"Check all exits," he told Deadpool, "Make sure nothing can get out, block them if you have to, then find the circuit breakers." He reached into his coat and grabbed his grappling gun. "Wait for my signal, then cut the power and join me." He raised the contraption, fired, and zipped into the darkened sky, leaving Wade with his list of chores.

"…I have got to get me one of those…"

**... ...**

_It's just another job, it's just another job,_ Frank told himself as he waited nervously for the negotiations to finish. It was taking longer than usual, something about the dealer wanting more money and the distributer wanting more profit. No matter; these things happen all the time. But what got him on edge were the recent busts made on other jobs that were too close for comfort.

According to rumors in the underground several deals went awry due to the appearance of some goddamned heroes. But it weren't no regular vigilantes, neither. Instead of bruises and broken noses, these guys left _bodies__**. **_It would be scenes of massacre, corpses riddled with bullet holes or with broken bones. Word has it that it was Deadpool the mercenary out shooting up the place, and if that wasn't bad enough, that psychopath was teamed up with a homicidal maniac.

So of course Frank was nervous, with the prospect of getting splattered all over the walls looming over his head. _It's just another job, it's just another job._ He recited it like a mantra over and over, trying to calm his agitated nerves. _It's just another job, it's just another-_

CRASH!

At the sound of glass shattering, the lights went out. Frank was prepared. While the others were stupidly wondering what happened, he bolted for the nearest exit. It was locked. Just as he was about to find another, the screaming started. The noise and flash of gunfire ricocheted off the metal walls, adding to the confusion. Everyone had their weapons out and were firing wildly, but it didn't stop the _something_ that was picking them off.

_There!_ A movement in the shadows, a flash of white. Frank stared with wide eyes as he saw it approach one guard, completely unnoticed, and dragged him into the darkness. His companions only noticed until it was too late. The figure danced between their bullets, moving with precision and attacking with short but powerful blows. It knew exactly where to strike to inflict maximum damage, and quickly brought down five of the men. But there were still plenty more, and Frank thought they may have a chance to fend it off.

"YIPPEY-KAY-YAY, MOTHER【**CENSORED**】!"

Shards of glass sprayed the room as a red-clad man crashed through one of the windows. He landed right in front of the boxes that Frank was hiding behind, so his voice was heard clearly.

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about!" Said the man to the ceiling. "Great entrance, epic quote, and stunning protagonist. Let's get this party started!" He pulled two guns from his arsenal and began mowing down those still left standing. With the trained accuracy and pinpoint moves of an assassin, the newcomer picked off his targets one by one. His bullets always found their mark, yet never touched the shadowy whirlwind in the midst of the chaos. Then, seemingly bored with his guns, the man drew his sword and jumped into the fray, slicing and cutting his way to the center. By the time he reached his cohort, there was no one left in his path.

"Whoops, I guess we kinda went overboard there, Spot." Deadpool cleaned his sword and admired the carnage. "No one left to squeal. Another bust, then?" He turned to look at Rorschach, but the man had stalked over to a pile of boxes, and pulled out a terrified Frank from behind them. "Well what do we have here? This little piggy went 'wee wee wee', all in his pants."

Without hesitation, Rorschach threw the man against the wall, where he fell to the floor and cowered.

"Need information." Growled the Mask in a low tone. "I don't get them, you don't keep fingers." The man whimpered some more.

"Whoa whoa, take it easy, Spot," said Deadpool, intervening. "The guy already fears us; Now we just need him to trust us. And your little WWBD stunt gave me an idea." Rorschach relented as Wade stooped down next to the man.

"How 'bout a magic trick?" Asked Wade as he pulled a pencil out from his fanny pack. "I'm going to make the pencil disappear." Upon hearing those words, the man's eyes widened like saucers.

"Alright, alright! I'll tell you anything! Just keep that pencil away from me!"

"Where is the Boss' location?" Demanded Rorschach. "Where is he hiding?"

"I-I don't know! I don't deal directly with the big man himself. Grunts like me answer to Vince, Vince Di Marco. And he answers to the Boss' right-hand man. I don't know who that is though; you're gonna have to ask Vince himself."

"Where can we find Di Marco?"

"He runs the Black Pits, a skin bar down on 14th street. That's where I get my jobs, anyway. Vince keeps to the back rooms, where he plays with a few of his favourites."

"Security?"

"There's usually around ten to fifteen guys in the place, just enjoying the scenery. I know for sure Vince has two bodyguards on him at all times. There might've been another, but I'm not sure. That's all I know, I swear!"

"Hurm." Rorschach studied him, taking him apart piece by piece. He wasn't lying, that's for sure, but his information was scant. At least it was a lead. "We're finished." He turned and walked away.

Taking that as his cue to leave, Frank started to get up, but was pushed back down by the mercenary.

"Whoa, buddy, where do you think you're going?"

"What? But, I-I answered all your questions! I did as you said!"

"But I haven't even shown you my magic trick yet," said Deadpool, twirling the pencil in his hand. "Watch carefully now, or else it's gonna _disappear!_" He gripped the pencil and swung it down on the man's head and-

THWAP!

His hand stopped inches from the guy's head. Wade looked and saw that some sort of sticky webbing was stuck to his hand, preventing him from moving it.

"How's this for a trick; making _you_ disappear behind bars, you sick nutjob."

There was a tug on the web, and Deadpool found himself hurdling through the air. He crashed into the shelving, bringing them down with him. As he tried to clear his head, Wade found himself staring at a red blob on the ceiling.

"Well would you look at that; It's your friendly neighbourhood Spidey-boy! How's it hangin', Spidey? Ha-hah, 'hanging'. GET IT?"

"Real original. The only thing you're getting is 20 to life," said Spider-Man as he launched an attack from his perch. "You've gone too far, Deadpool. Bodies have been turning up everywhere, and they all bear your signature." Deadpool rolled out of the way in time and jumped into a fighting stance.

"That's impossible! I didn't write my name on _all_ the bodies; just the ones I killed. The rest were probably Spot's handiwork."

"'Spot'? You've teamed up with the Spot? Ohnn might be a criminal, but he doesn't-… ... ... ... ... ... ... . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . . ... .. ... .. ... ... .. . ... .. ... ... ... ... ... ... .. ... ... ... ... ... ... .. ... ... .. ... .. ... ... .. ... ... ... ... ... .. ... ... ... .. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .. ... ... ... .. ... .. ... ... .. ... .. ... .. .. ... .. ... .. ... ... ... ... ... .. .. ... .. .. ... ... ... ... .. ... .. ... ... ... ... ... .. .. .. ... … ... .. ... ... ... ... .. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .. ... .. ... ... ... ... .. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .. ... ... ... .. .. .. .. .. ... .. ... ... ... . .. ... .. .. .. ... .. ... .. ... .. ... .. .. ... .. .. ... ... .. ... .. ... .. ... .. ... .. ... .. ... .. .. ... .. ... .. ... ... .. ... .. ... ... ... ... .. ... ... .. ... ... ... .. ... .. ... .. ... ... .. ... ...What-what the hell- Did, did I just have a seizure?"

"No," said Wade, scratching his chin, "I'd say the writer went off to do research on the Spot but got side-tracked through a series of links that eventually wound up at a Charlie Sheen video clip. Ding!"

"What?"

"Yes, you had a seizure. I believe it's a built-in defense mechanism that's common in some species of lizards."

"You're insane, Deadpool. I don't know what you did to me, but you're going down!" At that, the hero launched himself at the mercenary, who did his best to block the super-strong blows unleashed upon him.

"Hey, come on! That-ow!- That's uncalled for!-Argh!- Those guys deserved it-Ah!-Spot's the one who-Gyah!-SPOT! Give me a hand here!" Wade's call went unanswered, for Rorschach was nowhere to be found.

"I guess your buddy portaled outta here, huh? You villain types never could sustain a working relationship. Can't blame him, though; one look under that mask would send anyone run-OMPH!"

Deadpool's strike smashed into Spider-man's jaw and he toppled down onto the ground. He groaned and gingerly picked himself up, but found the barrel of a gun pointed at his face.

"HOW many times must I tell you people, it's PLATONIC!" Wade shouted, shaking his gun at the downed hero. "I could say a few things about that Flash dude, what with that blatant man-crush he has on you and your shrink-wrap footie pajamas. Now if you don't mind, me an' Spot are on a revenge binge, and if you plan on getting in the way of my binge, I'll make it so you won't." He cocked his gun, aimed it, and-

WHACK!

The hook of a grappling gun knocked his gun from his hand and sent it flying. The hook retracted and both costumed men traced it to its source. Rorschach stepped into view and reattached the head to the barrel.

"Spot!" Cried Deadpool, "Where were you? You didn't give me any backup when I was kicking Spider-Freak's ass."

"I said we were finished." Rorschach stated. "I left. You didn't follow." He spared a glance at Spider-Man. "And I don't harm innocents."

"Pffttt! Well you got that right; 500+ issues with chicks throwing themselves at him and I STILL don't see any Spider-Babies (Spider-Girl doesn't count; I ain't accepting none of that AU crap…Yes, I know I'm technically in an AU right now…Don't talk back to me! If I say 'ain't' is a real word, then it's a real word!...)."

In the meantime, Spider-Man was more confused than ever. "Hold on a minute! This…this isn't the Spot! Since when did his spots move…or wore a hat? Who are you?" He stared at the newcomer, whose creepily morphing blots and low growl were definitely not that of Jonathan Ohnn.

"Rorschach." Was the simple reply.

"Huh, well so much for creativity. What's your angle? Freak accident with a printer cartridge?"

"Hurm."

"Yeah, and there's a paper jam we've got to take care of, if you know what I mean," added Deadpool, "So why don't you mosey on back to your friendly neighbourhood and go play with Stilt-Man or whatever and leave this for the big boys."

"Uh-huh, yeah, and who has the Avengers Membership card?"

"My application's still pending!"

"Yeah, I'll bet it's pending; In the recycling bin."

"We need to leave. Now." Stated Rorschach. "Police are mobilizing."

"Righty-o, old chap." Said Wade, tweaking the mechanism on his belt. "Just need to set the old teleporter for the Black Pits and we'll be paying Vince a visit."

"Oh no," exclaimed Spider-Man, grabbing the merc's shoulder, "You're not going anywhere until I get some ans-"

A bright flash and the trio was gone.

TBC

* * *

**Notes: HAHA! You thought I was gonna bring in that superhero but then I alluded to that other hero but then it turns out I really DID bring in that superhero! What a twist! As you can read, I've been watching a WHOLE bunch of YouTube videos. And then I incorporate them into daily life (meaning, no life). Anyways...you guys know how far you can chuck a kumquat? Or if it's legal to chuck kumquats? I'm thinkin' of making one of those potato guns, but instead of potatoes, you chuck kumquats! Neat, eh? Come this Halloween, I'm going as the Kumquaterminator (It sounded a lot cooler in my head). Hasta la Vista, bebe.**

**- Chindu, Prince of Darkness**


	5. Chapter 5: No Shirt, No Shoes

**Good Cop, Bad Cop**

* * *

**Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today...to mourn the passing of God's most precious children; 136 ants. 136 of these dear little workers, our proverbial brothers and sisters, were taken from us, by the hands of Zanegar the Cruel. Held hostage for nigh over four months, this depraved soul killed them one by one each day. Though the pain of this loss was great, I struggled on to bring you this chapter, knowing that those 136 little soldiers would have wanted me to do so. So, dear ones, read on, and remember them, remember the ants that were sacrificed. Because I was lazy. Zanegar, I hope you're proud of yourself...**

**...Nah, Imma just playin', bro. We cool. Indiscrimminate murder's healthy from time to time...if you're a psychopath.  
**

**Disclaimer: No ants were harmed in the making of this chapter...to my knowledge. What you do in your spare time is your own business. I'm sure there are websites for that.**

* * *

**Chapter Five: No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service  
**

"-wers."

Spiderman looked around. "What…?"

The trio of heroes(?) stood outside a dark and musty bar. Muffled music could be felt booming behind the sealed windows. The words "Black Pits" were outlined in flickering neon lights that illuminated the street. Prostitutes lingered near the sidewalk, their tired eyes looking for a customer. A large bouncer was situated at the door, trying to look intimidating.

Deadpool walked up to the bouncer. "Hey Tiny, mind calling your boss out for a quick chat? I'm here to remind him of our high-school reunion. Ah, I remember all the swirlies we had together. Of course, I was doing the swirlies and he was taking them. Good times, good times."

"No one gets in without Vince's say so," said Tiny, crossing his arms, "So make like a tree and get outta here."

**Ah ha ha ha! That was **_**funny!**_

_Ha ha! No._

"Hah, but seriously," Deadpool raised his weapons and trained them on the poor  
bouncer, "We need to go in there, and you're in the way. And if you're in the way, then we can't get in there, so I'll have to get you _out _of the way. In a body bag. The only color I have left is hot pink; is that okay with you?" He pulled from his fanny pack a hot pink body bag. Tiny ran.

**Why do they always run when we pull that out? Pink is the new black!**

"And it matches the color of blood! We should host _Design Star _instead of that tramp Tanika. That girl needs to know that yellow is not a color."

_Hey! I thought yellow was our thing!_

"Yeah, when there's color involved. If you haven't noticed, this is print, so just deal with being **bold** and _italic_ thought sentences."

Deadpool made a move of going towards the door, but was stopped by Spiderman's shout.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" Said the costumed hero. "Someone better tell me what's going on or I'm webbing the whole place up!" He followed up his threat by pointing his wrists at the merc and Rorschach. "I mean it!"

"Easy there, Spidey, careful where you're pointing those," said Wade with his hands up, "We're just doing our part in cleaning up society, same as you."

"Yeah, I'm sure," scoffed Spidey. "Except your definition of 'cleaning' translates to 'first degree murder'. How much are you getting paid this time?"

"Those guys deserved it! And I'm not getting paid at all! This is personal. Me 'n Spot both have a bone to pick with a guy, and this guy knows a guy who talks to that guy, so we need this guy to point us to that guy who knows our guy. So we can pick up his bones."

**Huh?**

_Huh?_

"I'm not letting you kill anyone else, Deadpool, criminals or not! Get ready for a smack-down, Ugly!" Spider-man crouched down in a fighting stance.

**Ugly?**

_Well I never!_

"Dem's fightin' words! Put up your dukes and have at thee!"

"Stop."

Rorschach's growl stopped them both from attacking. Deadpool turned to him and trembled his lower lip.

"But-but-but, he called me _ugly_!"

"Quiet." Rorschach growled again in annoyance. "No more distractions. Need to get Di Marco." He turned to address Spider-man. "Hunting a crime lord. Di Marco's an underling. Don't stop us. Don't get in our way."

Spider-man backed down a little, but was still resolute. "I won't let you kill anyone. If you're trying to catch a criminal, then I'll help you, but I'll also need to keep an eye on you guys." He landed a glare at the mercenary, who returned it with a grin. Rorschach growled something that sounded suspiciously like 'weak' and 'useless', but Peter decided to ignore that.

"Don't you have school tomorrow morning?" Deadpool asked mockingly. "Why don't you go web up some cheerleader skirts and leave this to the pros?"

"What, do you stalk me or something? No wait, scratch that, you might actually get paid for it."

"I don't need to stalk you to know you haven't been getting any action, if you know what I mean. Has shooting all them webs left you shooting blanks? Oh wait, you can't even shoot 'cuz you've never even-"

"Enough." Rorschach had his fill of their mindless bickering. "Wasting time."

"Well, you heard the man," Deadpool grinned, his attitude towards the new addition to the group changing drastically, "Looks like we've got ourselves a threesome."

"Don't say it like that. It's…disturbing." Spider-man looked skeptically at the bar. "Where are we, anyways?"

Wade hopped over to the door and opened it. "Well, Dorothy," he said over the loud blast of music and noise that flowed from the entrance, "You sure ain't in Queens no more."

Staying true to its name, the Black Pits was a dimly lit place filled with noise, smoke, and seizure-inducing lights. Several of its individual booths were filled with burly thugs, enjoying their down time with some entertainment, while the others were situated next to the stage, transfixed on the dancers on-stage. A bar was in the center of the room, keeping the occupants of the club to the lower levels of sobriety.

They kept to the sides of the room so they wouldn't be spotted. The darkness of the room and blinding lights helped. The half-naked dancers also helped draw attention away from them. Rorschach couldn't keep the disgust off his face as they made their way to the back. Deadpool couldn't be happier.

"Hellooooo Nurse!~" He whistled at one of the dancers.

"Aren't they, uh, chilly?" Spidey asked hesitantly, trying not to stare at the scantily clad women. And failing. _MJ would kill me if she knew I was here!_ He thought nervously.

"Don't tell me you're never been to a strip club, Spidey!" Deadpool gasped in shock. "You poor, poor little man. What kind of sick, deprived life are you living? !"

"A normal one."

"Killjoy. I don't know what that red-head sees in you."

**Maybe…because they're both red?**

"I'm red too! How come I don't get a hot red-head?"

"What did you say about M-, Uh, a red-head?" Spider-man asked, a slight panic in his voice.

"Nothing. Come on, we're losing Spot."

They reached a hallway that led to several smaller rooms for private functions. At the end of the hall was a door flanked by two guards.

"No doubt that's Di Marco's room." Said Spidey as they peaked from behind the corner. "But Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum will make a ruckus if they see us."

As an answer to his observation, a shadow…uh…a shadow…um…uh…lemme see…eh…hmm, what happens next? Uh…something, something…man, I could really use a cheeseburger right now…hmm, maybe some pizza rolls…Do I have any kumquats? Where do I buy those? Gotta do some grocery shopping for this week…

_What's going on?_

**I think it's hungry.**

…Did my paycheck come in yet? God, I'm broke. Maybe I shouldn't have spent so much on comic books…but I need research material…hmm…did I turn off the stove? I think I smell smoke.

"Ahem."

That better not be smoke. I don't think I have house insurance. Which reminds me, I'm kinda hungry. I could really go for a cheeseburger…or some kumquats…

"AHEM!"

…Eh?

"Dude! I thought this was MY story, not 'Diary of a Mediocre Writer'!"

…Mediocre?

"The people don't wanna hear about your stupid problems, they want to hear about mine!"

…Stupid?

"So hurry up and get on with it!"

…ಠ_ಠ

_Uh-oh._

**Now you've done it. Nice job, genius. **

"What? What did I do-?"

Deadpool barely had time to finish his sentence before a gaping black hole opened up beneath him.

"What the-? !"

He screamed like the little girly-man he was as he fell through the void. In fact, as he fell, he somehow tumbled through a clod of laundry, and came out wearing a frilly pink dress. And he had blonde pigtails. And his name is now Tiddlywinks. And Super Bass was playing on a loop in the background.

"Not cool! Not cool! Not cool!" Shrieked Tiddlywinks as he tried tearing the dress off, but to no avail, for it was fused to his very soul. Giant pictures of his mom in scandalous clothing floated around him, forever searing their images into his eyes. They throbbed in sync with the 'Boom, boom, boom, boom' that blasted throughout the hell-void.

_This is all your fault, Tiddlywinks_!

"I'm sorry! I didn't know! I'll be good! Just make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!"

"Wait here."

Spider-Man was about to reply but Rorschach quickly slipped away. He didn't know what kind of powers the strange man possessed, and could only hope it was something that could get them past this situation.

"Hey Deadpool, what do you think he's- Deadpool?"

The merc beside him seemed to be in a daze and was muttering incoherently under his breath. He thought he heard the words 'Tiddlywinks', but brushed that thought aside and attempted to communicate with the man.

"Hey! Snap out of it, Wilson! Wade!"

"-Huh?" Wade blinked a couple of times, his eyes now focused. "Wha-?" He patted his body, not finding any frills or laces. "I'm back? I'm back! Oh thank god!"

"You okay, man?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm super- er, uh, I'm great! Totally! Let's do this! But uh…could you just hold onto this for me? Maybe burn it?"

He handed Peter the pink body bag he had used to threaten the usher. The superhero looked at it skeptically, and tossed it in the trash.

"Where'd Spot go?" Asked Wade.

"I dunno, but he told us to wait here. But whatever he's planning, it'd better be quick. I don't think we can stay hidden for long."

At that moment, there was the sound of a smashed bottle and a heated argument broke out at one of the tables that quickly lead to shoves and pushes, and finally punches. It seems one of the patrons was accusing another of spilling his drink, while the other accused him of stealing his drink. The fight began spilling towards the center and started drawing the attention of everyone in the bar, including that of the bodyguards. They left their post and tried to quell the fighting. By this time, Rorschach slipped back to the waiting pair, a half-filled shot glass in his hand. He sniffed the drink, made a face, and tossed it behind his shoulder. Then he cocked his head in the direction of Di Marco's room.

The two watched in amazement as the fedora'd man stalked down the corridor.

"Wow."

"I know, right? And he's _my_ partner."

They gathered near the doorway, and at a nod, Rorschach opened the door. A man, presumably Di Marco, sat in a cushioned seat with his legs propped up on the desk in front of him. His face was hidden by the newspaper he was reading, and the minute the trio entered the room, he started shouting.

"What the fuck is going on out there? You tell them to shut the fuck up or I'll gut the lot of 'em. Bonnie's been bitchin' to me non-stop about them dumbfucks out there and the Boss is on my ass about the botched jobs. It's not like it's my fault when those fuckers show up during a gig. Whoever they are, those fucktards are doing a real nice job of fucking with-"

He slammed his paper down, only to come face-to-face with a trio of men in costumes. Deadpool waved and greeted him with a "Hi!"

"The fuck is this shi-"

A wad of web fluid found itself sticking to his mouth, effectively sealing his words.

"Someone's got a potty mouth," said Spidey, "Don't they teach you any manners at Sleazeball College?" He then proceeded to web the man to the chair.

"I dunno, man. I don't think he even passed high school physics."

"Did you pass high school physics?"

There was a pause."…So, _Vince Di Marco,_ if that is indeed your real name," Deadpool paced across the room, an arm behind his back and a hand scratching his chin, "Where were you on the night of the 25th?"

He got furious muffled grunts as an answer. Rorschach was ignoring everything and began searching the shelves and leafing through documents.

"Oh a wise guy, eh? Well maybe this will dumb you down a little!" He pulled out a gun and aimed it at the man's head. "Where are the Death Star plans? Are they with the droids? If these aren't the droids we're looking for, then so god help me I'll-!"

Unfortunately he couldn't follow up on his threat because his gun was yanked out of his hand by Rorschach.

"Ask him details of future jobs, the Boss, locations, hideouts, _anything_, but. Do. Not. Kill."

"Now that's just unreasonable, Spot," Wade pouted, but obeyed nonetheless. "Com'ere, Bug-Breath; we're gonna play a little 'Good Cop, Bad Cop' with dear old Vince."

"Lemme guess, you're gonna be the Bad Cop?"

"Wrong; _you_'_re_ playing Bad Cop, _I'm_ playing Worse Cop."

* * *

_**Rorschach's Journal: December 11**__**th**__**, 2**__**nd**__** Entry**_

_**Picked up a new tag-along. Spider-Man. Recognized him from newspaper articles, headlines, evening news. Editor is unusually biased. Not a menace; hardly a threat. **_

_**First impression? Naïve. Weak. A child playing hero. This city will find him crushed and broken, and sweep the mess away like rubbish, destined to be forgotten. Him, and others like him won't save this city. They can't. I can. **_

_**The Annoyance seems familiar with him. Directs his inane ramblings towards the newcomer, and they bicker and fight like children. Saves me the headache. I leave them to their game. **_

_**Di Marco's room makes for bare pickings on the Boss and his organization. Hrm. Not very high on the food chain. Several clues point to other members, but more information needed to locate the Boss. The list of drug-stores confuses me. Future heists for petty cash? Ingredients? Something feels off. Will begin investigation on lower-level leaders, and work my way up. Best way to clear an infestation.**_

_**Vince Di Marco is…dispensable.**_

"What's that you're writing, a diary?"

Rorschach closed his book with a snap. The Spider-themed superhero quickly pulled his head back as he was treated with what he guessed was a glare. It was hard to tell with all those moving spots. A small, deeply-suppressed part of Rorschach's mind was petulant that he had to crane his neck to look at the hero.

"Journal."

"Oh! Right, journal, of course. Um, why?"

"Documentation of truth, proof of existence."

"Why would you need proof of existence?" asked Spider-man quizzically.

"In case I die before truth is revealed." _Again_.

"Oh." There was an awkward pause. "You know, I can't help but feel like I've seen you somewhere before. It might just be that you and the Spot have similar taste in color pallets, no offense or anything. Deadpool's nicknames sure isn't helping. You'd think I'd remember someone with a mask like yours, huh?"

"Oi, Bug-Breath! Switch!" Deadpool yelled whilst putting the cap back on his marker. Behind him Vince Di Marco was still strapped to his chair, only with the addition of childish scribbles all over his face in black ink, which were contorted by the furious expression he wore. Spider-Man visibly groaned.

"I'm not drawing anything else on his face. Did you even ask him questions?"

"Hey man, you said 'No maiming, no breaking'. A dude's gotta improvise." The merc twirled the sharpie between his fingers. "Think he'll look good with a moustache?"

Spider-Man smacked his forehead in exasperation, but a knock on the door drew his attention.

"Hey, boss, I gots ta report to youse about the thing up front. Ricky said Frank done stole his drink and…" The thug droned on about the incident resolved, oblivious to the fact that his boss was tied up and shouting out furious muffled curses. All three costumed figures in the room tensed, but Rorschach was the first to react.

"We're done here. Go deal with them." He whispered the order and gestured towards the door.

"Well, Spidey, ya up for a good old fashioned bar brawl?" Deadpool asked excitedly.

"And here I thought this was going to be a peaceful night." The hero looked over to Rorschach. "You coming?" He still hadn't seen what the guy's power was, apart from the grappling gun, so he was unsure of what would happen to him in a bar fight.

Rorschach simply walked over to the desk and began gathering up various documents. "Finishing up here. Have fun."

"We will, Spot!" Wade shouted as he kicked down the door, taking down the rambling thug that was standing behind it. Spider-man quickly followed, shouting "Fists only, Deadpool!" as he punched out the thug's partner. An uproar could be heard as the rest of the establishment noticed the presence of the two red-clad supers and soon the smashing of tables and shattering of glass drifted down the hallway.

Amidst the deafening noise of the commotion, Rorschach calmly sorted the paper documents in his hands tucked them deep in the folds of his trench-coat. He scoured the room once more for any clues he might have missed. Satisfied, he turned his attention to the bound Di Marco.

The man was still struggling to break free of his bonds. Rorschach walked up and quickly tore the webbing off his mouth. The man yelled in pain before letting off a stream of curses and threats.

"You freaks will be sorry you ever fucked with me! I'll find you and rip that fucking mask off and-"

His threat was cut off by a gun jammed down his throat. It was the same gun Deadpool had used to threaten him, before Rorschach took it away. And it was Rorschach who now had his finger on the trigger. Fear slowly took hold of him as he stared into the flowing black splotches on white. He didn't dare swallow, afraid that the slightest movement would set off the gun. In the background, he could hear gunshots, fired either by his men or by that red and black lunatic. His eyes widened as the swirling face drew closer.

"What mask?"

In the midst of Deadpool's blazing gunfire and those of Di Marco's men, no one heard the single shot that rang out from the backroom.

Rorschach looked down at the red-stained corpse before him with indifference. The patterns on his mask morphed serenely, reflecting his own emotions, or lack thereof. He searched the body for any useful information, then grabbed a small scrap of paper and a sharpie. He folded the paper in half and crudely sketched a simple symbol on both halves of the paper. The Boss knew what this was. He'll know that Rorschach was coming for him. He dropped his calling card on the desk before exiting the office.

By now, the entire bar's worth of thugs and minions had been dealt with, so Rorschach calmly stepped over the groaning mass of bodies on the floor. Deadpool and Spider-Man were waiting outside, the latter telling the mercenary off for the use of guns. The only excuse he got was 'They shot me first'.

When Rorschach appeared, they abandoned their squabble and prepared to exit the scene before the police showed up. Spider-Man quickly declined Deadpool's offer of using the teleporter, preferring his own web-swinging mode of transport. Before he swung off, he bade a farewell to Rorschach and, grudgingly, Deadpool.

"At least you didn't kill anyone this time," Spidey said.

"There's always next time!"

"Right. Don't get too involved with this guy, Rorschach, he's bad news." He placed a hand on Rorschach's shoulder, who suppressed an involuntary flinch. Why did these Masks have to be so…physical? "If you need any help with this crime lord, I know several guys who specialize in that area." Another red-clad hero came to mind. "Just call me up at the Avengers Mansion; the guys there know how to reach me. But just know that you don't have to rely on a journal if you want the truth to get out. I have a contact who works for the paper. A word from me and he can get your story published out to the masses."

So he wanted to help. Cute.

"Hrm. Will keep that in mind."

Spider-Man seemed satisfied with the response he got. Deadpool, on the other hand, was getting jealous of his 'bonding-time' with Spot.

"Back off, Romeo. In case you haven't read the last chapter, it's 'Rorschach and _Deadpool_', not 'Rorschach and the Spider Wonder'. So go swing on back to the Spider-Cave."

"You still haven't built it for me."

"You said you didn't want one!"

Spider-Man didn't bother replying. Instead he shot out a web-line and swung off into the night. Rorschach watched the rapidly shrinking figure of the super-hero, knowing that the next time they meet, those webs would be aimed at him. Well, he'll be ready for it.

Unbeknownst to the mismatched duo, a figure quietly slipped into the shadows of the alleyway.

* * *

Peter Parker swung by the Avengers Mansion the next morning, with the intent to inform the other heroes of a possible future visitor. He found the other members gathered around the television monitor, watching the morning news.

"Last night a bar fight erupted down on 14th Street. The establishment, aptly named the Black Pits, has long been suspected of being a hide-out for members of an underground drug ring, this particular one headed by a Vince Di Marco. However, when police arrived on the scene, Di Marco was found dead in his office, shot in the head by a small caliber weapon. Di Marco was the only fatality, and witnesses say they saw Spider-Man and the infamous mercenary Deadpool (a.k.a. Wade Wilson) enter the club shortly before the fight broke out. No word yet on Spider-Man's involvement with the death of Di Marco.

"Witnesses also say that a third individual was seen accompanying them, and a calling card left on Di Marco's desk has been identified as a trademark symbol of the recent appearance of the as-of-yet-unnamed vigilante known for his rather gruesome handling of criminals. The only images we have of this man are traffic camera footages" The screen cut to a grainy video clip of a man running into an alley, stopping, before a hand dragged him into the shadows. A few seconds passed before a figure in a trench-coat and fedora walked out, the black and white mask distinguishable even in the fuzzy image. "The New York Police Department is asking anyone with information on this dangerous individual to please step up and provide…"

Peter finally remembered where he had seen that mask.

* * *

**Notes: Remember kids, Rorschach is a ****homicidal maniac**! So if you don't want to be a goddamned lunatic, eat lots of kumquats! They're good for your sanity! **Heheh...hehehehehhahhhh**...!

**- Chindu, Prince of KUMQUATS**


End file.
